His Child-Like Protégé
He trudges along the darkened streets, the orange glow from the lamplights illuminating barely a foot before his feet. He has a purposeful footfall; anxious, yet deliberately slow. Like a challenge to the universe to send him hell to see how he deals with it.
He arrives at the gaping mouth of an alley. Side-long, he glances down to his right, determining that should he enter, he will be taking up the challenge. He smiles, knowing that he had intended this all along.
Striding swiftly down the darkened street, where even the whorish street lamps failed to dazzle, he finds the handle of a cleverly concealed door beside a dumpster. He can't see him, but he knows that behind him somewhere is a large man, larger than even him, ready to pounce should the need arise.
'Au voir,' he says quietly, yanking open the door, allowing the light from inside the building to spill out like molten gold into the alley. Taking less than a moment, the man hastily enters and closes the door with a click. The street is silent once more.
She, on the other hand, is still at home. As she promised him she would be. Like she always is. Tap, tap, tapping away at her keyboard, forcing the adventures of various creatures from her mind onto the page. After all, she wouldn't be anywhere else, not now. Not when everything hinged on such an important story.
She tucks a wisp of blonde hair back behind her left ear and re-reads her handiwork as the hero confesses his love for the heroine and stands at the mercy of his adopted brother. Sure to win, has to win, must win…
She sits up. That sound. She isn't sure but she dismisses it anyway. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Again.
This time, she can't ignore it. Sitting upright, she turns to the window. The last thing she sees is darkness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Delete.
Detective Robert Goren stood over the dead girl's body, examining her from above. The rest of the clean-up crew were scurrying around like mice. Detective Alexandra Eames joined him.
'Head covered, slowly choked to death,' Eames murmured, reading from her notes. Goren nodded.
'She was… sitting at her computer. Typing. Someone came in through the door, but quietly. There wasn't a struggle. The girl didn't know that someone was in the room until she turned around.'
Eames pulled the black desk chair back and sat at the still switched-on computer.
'So she's typing away, then the perp jumps her from behind. How thoughtful.'
'Did we get an I.D on the vic?' Goren asked.
'Carla Thompson. Apparently she was something big down at Somerset.'
'Somerset?'
'Big writing college. She was only thirteen.'
Goren looked at the blonde girl splayed awkwardly beside the desk.
'Big she may have been, but someone didn't want her alive,' Goren said thoughtfully. He looked at the computer screen.
'It looks like she… was working on a story here,' he said, indicating the paragraphs. Eames leant over his hulking shoulder.
'So where's the disk? I mean, she wouldn't have saved it to her hard-drive. Too easy to get into,' Eames asked. Goren tapped the sides of the laptop.
'USB. This doesn't have a floppy disk drive.'
'So whoever was here took the USB as well?' Eames asked. Goren nodded at the screen. He looked at his partner, mouth slightly open.
'I think we got a case of sheer workplace jealously,' he said softly.
